


be my spark

by sina



Series: just be mine [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Jack's formidable ass, Life Drawing Class, M/M, Nude Modeling, art school is dumb so i wrote a dumb fic about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sina/pseuds/sina
Summary: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that there is no such thing as an attractive life drawing model, never has there been, and never shall there be.At least, that’s what Kent had decided.





	be my spark

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is rated M because it mentions sex a lot but no sex actually takes place. If you'd prefer not to read some pretty explicit thoughts, skip this one.
> 
> The title is from "Just Be Mine" by Cher Lloyd. It has nothing to do with the fic, but I liked it so??? Here you go???
> 
> A world of thanks to [ blazeofglory ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazeofglory/pseuds/blazeofglory) for the beta!

_We hold these truths to be self-evident, that there is no such thing as an attractive life drawing model, never has there been, and never shall there be. ___

____

____

At least, that’s what Kent had decided. And he was pretty determined that he was right.

After last week’s class, in which the model bitched at him endlessly over repositioning his easel and yelled at him to put his phone away when he used it to check the time -- and a weekend extended drawing session where the model had worn _granny panties_ \-- he was absolutely not looking forward to his next class on Monday.

First, his prof would probably yell at him about drawing the granny panties. (But what choice did he have? It wasn’t his fault that the model couldn’t follow the rules.) Second, if the model who clearly detested him for no reason was back, he considered, he might just turn around and leave. Taking an absence would be so much nicer than being abused by a naked lady his mom’s age who had a mortal issue with whether his easel was too close to her.

For the first twenty minutes or so of class, he didn’t need to worry, as there was no sign of a model at all. He unpacked his supplies, set up his easel, smoothed out a sheet of paper on his drawing board, and set to work scraping a razor up the line of his pencils to sharpen them. His professor projected master drawings of arms and their musculature on the giant screen at the front of class, and asked them to quietly copy the studies in their sketchbooks.

Now, Kent wasn’t the best figure artist. He struggled with the technical aspects of rendering muscles and bones in a chalk pencil that remained dull despite his hacking at it with a razor, his sketchbook too small for the grand gestures he wanted to make. He was much more comfortable with paint and giant canvas, and often wondered if he might fare better with figures if he could paint them life-size. But that was a question for a later time, as he angrily breathed out of his nose at the smears of sanguine pencil left behind by his hand brushing across the page.

He decided to give up on the day’s sketch warmups and glanced around the classroom to scope out what everyone else was doing. He was sitting at the back and noticed everyone else slumped over their sketchbooks, meticulously copying the lines of the textbook projections at the front of the room. More importantly, he noticed his professor talking quietly with a tall young man who had just entered the room. Kent couldn’t hear what they were discussing, but noticed the man was wearing a bathrobe, and figured he must be their model for the day. Kent allowed himself to indulge in a few more moments of staring, taking in the man’s dark hair and bright blue eyes, so bright in a stripe of sunlight that he could see their color from across the room. His eyelids were droopy and he smiled slightly as he nodded along to whatever Prof. Rose was saying. Suddenly, he let his eye slip from hers and looked around the classroom, his eyes landing on Kent’s own in no time.

Kent immediately bent over his sketchbook to pretend he was drawing along with the rest of the class. His hat slipped easily off his head and fell to the floor, and he scrambled off of his stool to pick it up, causing the stool to clatter on the tile and sending pencils flying to the floor in the process. _“Shit!”_ he whispered, crouching down to gather all of his things, finally grasping the pencils in one hand and jamming his hat back on with the other. When he looked up, the model had a bemused expression on his face, and his professor had turned around to see who was causing all the trouble. Kent waved meekly and returned to his perch on his stool, where he aimed his burning face at the page to pretend, again, that he was doing what he was supposed to.

He added a few strokes of detail here and there, ultimately not interested in finishing the drawing as pictured. But Professor Rose was walking around the room, nodding at some students’ work and offering some criticism to others in a low voice. When she reached Kent, she adjusted her glasses and peered at his work. 

“No, no, Mr. Parson -- you have to watch your proportions. Your wrist is far too skinny and your contours are on the wrong sides of the arm, see? The left side is mostly straight, and the right side has the curvature to it.” She jabbed her own pencil on the drawings and left her own lines behind. Kent quietly murmured “thank you” as she moved on to the next student. He glanced up again to see the model now seated at the front of the room, messing around with something on his phone. Kent let out a silent sigh of relief that the model most likely didn’t hear the criticism.

Kent really hated this class.

After a few more moments of warmups, Rose clapped her hands and declared, “Everyone, this is Jack! He’ll be our model for today. This is his first time modeling, so I want you all to be very welcoming.” 

The class chimed, “Hello, Jack” in unison and a few people clapped or waved. Jack stood from his chair and shut the cell phone off, taking a few shy steps into the room.

“Someone come help me move the model stand,” Rose said, raising her voice. “Kent, come here, you have big arms, help me move this.” Kent blushed and acknowledged Jack on his way to help drag the platform on wheels into the center of the room. He stood straight and raised his arms in a stretch before turning around and coming face-to-face with Jack.

Well, not face-to-face. Because Jack was slightly taller. “Sorry!” Kent squeaked, immediately ducking out of the way and ambling back to his easel. _“Shit,”_ he muttered again.

He might’ve been in trouble.

Because Jack was beautiful. 

Those blue eyes, as it turned out, were huge and glazed, giving Jack the perpetual look of a smitten cartoon teenager, and his cheekbones were sharp enough to cut glass. His face reminded Kent of the beautiful men in classical statues they had to study for homework - chiseled jaw and nose, smooth, flawless, milky skin. And Kent noticed this all _at a glance_.

He was going to have to concentrate on that face for a long time if he was going to draw it. 

Aw, _fuck_.

Now was just not the time for feelings like this.

“Class, we’ll do two poses today. Jack, why don’t we have you face this way first?” she pointed to the door, which Kent sat directly across from. _Oh, good_ , he found himself thinking. This way, he wouldn’t see Jack’s face at all. 

Then again, that was before he had to face Jack’s ass.

In the middle of the room, on the model stand, Jack leaned down to set a timer on his phone and disrobe. Bent over, Kent’s view of Jack’s ass was positively obscene, and he felt himself blushing from the top of his forehead all the way down his chest. His ears burned, and he gulped as Jack stood straight up.

Jack’s ass was - well - okay, listen. Kent was an athlete before a traumatic injury pulled him out of sports and into art. Kent had always been gay. And not a single locker room encounter, not a single group shower, not changing in front of other guys or, hell, even having sex with some of them had ever rendered him this speechless over an ass. This ass was _fine_. This ass was grade-A, gold standard, top-shelf --

 _Fuck_! Kent mentally slapped himself. He was not supposed to be thinking this way about a model. Especially not a new model, who’s probably vulnerable, probably trusting them to keep it in their pants and _draw_ him, not _eyefuck_ him.

Right, drawing. Okay. Well.

Kent really, _really_ hated this class.

Jack stayed still, holding a broomstick handle in his left hand and relaxing his right arm and shoulder. One foot took a step forward and the other remained straight, raising one side of his hips and lowering the other. 

Kent let out a short breath and turned to his easel. He gazed over at Jack for a moment of indulgence, then back at his paper to start forming in some of the main angles of Jack’s form, the shapes of his traps and curves of his delts. He added a neck and the slight sliver of face he could see to the side of Jack’s head, an oddly angled ear he found more charming than anything.

Then, he started roughing in the planes of Jack’s back. _This is safe_ , he thought. _This is good. I’ll just do a study of his back, don’t even have to look at the butt. Safe. Good._

But as it was wont to do during long drawing sessions like this, Kent’s mind began to wander. As he detailed the curvature of Jack’s muscles, rounded in the shadows and smoothed out the midtones, he began to wonder what all that muscle would feel like beneath him. He wanted to grab Jack’s flesh with his hands, feel the muscle working under his fingertips, wanted to bite his domed shoulders and press his palm against Jack’s neck, and grasp at his hips as Kent snapped his own hips up into him --

 _God damn it, fuck!_ Kent thought again. _What is wrong with me?!_ He gritted his teeth and glared at his drawing. So far it was pretty bad, but then again, he wasn’t exactly concentrating. Or at least, if he was concentrating, it was on the wrong damn thing. The skin of his face still burned, and he grabbed his water bottle to try to cool off. He was very nonchalant until Jack stretched, pulling a toned arm over his head and grasping at the elbow with his opposite hand. His muscles bulged and Kent choked on his water, sending him spluttering and coughing into his sweatshirt. 

A few people looked around and a few more giggled, and Jack glanced over his shoulder to see where the noise was coming from. When he didn’t connect to it immediately, he turned back around and resumed his pose. 

Kent prayed that he didn’t see him, red and coughing into his sleeve. If Jack had an impression of him, it surely couldn’t be a good one at this point. 

Breathing hard, he turned back to his study. God, it was terrible. He had been so distracted that his proportions were completely off.

Just then, Professor Rose stopped by to critique.

“Uh,” Kent said, not looking her in the eye. “I think I should start over.”

“No, no, you can keep going,” she replied. “Just use your chamois to lift up some of the weird lines and re-draw them with your charcoal.”

“Okay,” Kent said, digging in his backpack for the little leather cloth.

“Oh, and Kent,” she continued, “don’t be afraid to draw the glutes! Jack’s are very nicely formed, see, and you, from this perspective -- lucky you! -- have the opportunity to draw them from this angle --” she marked some guidelines on his paper “-- and get to foreshorten the right one from where his leg is cocked.”

Indeed, Jack stood in a contrapposto that exaggerated his posterior just so. It was why Kent was completely avoiding drawing it. He chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from dropping his jaw at the words like ‘cocked’ she was just so casually giving him.

“Oh, and don’t forget to foreshorten the muscles of his left arm. See how the bicep and tricep wrap around the deltoid here?” She marked his page again. “There you go, that should help!”

Kent nodded and murmured “thank you” as she turned to go critique someone else. He did as he was told, lifting some of the charcoal out with his chamois, then trying his best to focus on drawing Jack’s body without submitting to the awful flesh hunger it inspired in him. 

He still avoided drawing Jack’s ass until he had nothing left to draw. As his eyes shifted downward to where Jack’s back gave way to the swell of his buttocks, Kent grew red again. His first thought was what it would be like to slap one of those cheeks, what kind of thick _thwack_ sound it would make if he did. His second thought was about how he might kiss the redness away, massaging him slowly and softly. His third thought was _fucking hell, Parson!_ as he again shook his head to get the thoughts out of his brain and far away.

He grabbed the hood of his sweatshirt and yanked it over his head, grabbing the strings and sliding them down so the hood cinched together. He wanted to scream. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his head on the drawing. He took in a few deep breaths before loosening the string, lowering the hood, and trying one last time to focus. 

He didn’t get very far before Jack’s timer went off. Jack shifted and set his pole down, leaning over to silence the phone. Kent very purposefully did not look the second time, but he still felt the early glow of a blush creeping up his neck and onto the tips of his ears.

He finished hatching where he’s pretty sure the planes turned into shadows, continuing to work while Jack grabs his robe and the other students begin to stretch and look around.

“We’ll take a fifteen minute break,” the professor announced. “Jack, can I get you anything? Water, tea?” 

“No, thank you, I’m all right,” Jack replied, and his voice struck at Kent: It’s so soft, a gentle lilt around the vowels that tells Kent that Jack must be Canadian. Or Minnesotan? Something like that.

Kent just stayed where he was seated for the duration of the break, using his imagination to fill in the gaps he didn’t draw when Jack was standing. It’s a breath of fresh air; without actually looking at Jack, he was able to keep the dirty thoughts at bay. He hoped his said dirty thoughts don’t translate into the way he’s drawing; if he drew something too porny, too big and round, would anyone be able to tell?

His concern increased as people wandered back into the classroom and Jack took his place on the model stand once again. This time, Jack would be facing Kent, and not only would Kent have to draw that face, but also his…. Well, you know. _Damn it. Damn it, damn it, shit, fuck_ , Kent thought as he hastily arranged a second sheet of paper and grabbed a sharper pencil. This was going to suck.

And of course, Jack chose that very moment to disrobe, so Kent’s first thought is about sucking, and doing it to something very specific.

_Fuck._

__

__

_Fuck!_

Kent just hung his head in shame. He fiddled with his pencil as he thought: _Take a deep breath. Two deep breaths. Okay, you can do this, you fucking pervert. Just draw him like a normal person, you goddamn dirty bastard. No one else is freaking out right now. Just stop freaking out and draw_.

So he did. He sketched in his initial landmarks, and then slowly built the figure on top of it. He glanced up at Jack every few seconds to get a good snapshot of his features, slowly incorporating them to his drawing.

That didn’t mean that his thoughts stayed clean, however.

As he etched in Jack’s jaw, he thought about the hickies he’d like to leave just beneath it. _Fuck._

He illustrated the curves of Jack’s neck and wanted to feel them under his fingers, gripping tight. _Fuck!_

He scratched away at Jack’s hair and wanted it between his fingers, wanted to pull it, hard. _FUCK._

As he filled in the rough shapes of his arms and torso, he imagined grasping his biceps, licking his nipples, maybe biting lightly, kissing down the trail of his dark hair…. _FUCK!_

Kent felt absolutely hopeless. He couldn’t keep his thoughts clean if he tried.

So he shrugged, wiped some sweat off his brow, and plowed on with his drawing. A deep breath in.

Jack’s thick legs, corded with muscle, opening up beneath him. A deep breath out.

Jack’s thin hips, perfect for grasping, maybe for leaving a bite mark on the iliac crest. A deep breath in.

And, finally, Jack’s cock, which, even flaccid, looked like something Kent would like to choke on. A deep breath out.

He finally gathered up his composure, sighed, “fuck it,” and sketched in Jack’s dick and balls as accurately as he could. They were… they were big. And clean looking, the head flushed a healthy pink. But as embarrassed as he was, he refused to be one of those weenie, immature artists that leave the area blank.

All in all, his drawing wasn’t bad. 

Not that he was enthusiastic about his dirty thoughts, but he needed to keep looking at Jack to fill in the shadows.

He focused first on Jack’s face, the thing that had gotten him in trouble in the first place. He rounded out the shadows above Jack’s eyes, lightly added in the darkness between his lips. The angle of his cheekbones and jaw were easier, just dark planes where the flesh cut off the light.

And then he struggled through the rest of Jack’s body, telling himself to shut up whenever his thoughts tried to wander. Just breathe, he reminded himself. Just draw what you see and don’t think about how soft his skin looks, the thick curls around his shaft, driving your nails into his sides…

 _Fucking…_ He grunted aggravatedly. _Fucking hell._

He was done. He had to be done. 

Luckily, Jack’s second timer went off at just that moment. Kent stood immediately and bolted out of the classroom to the only restroom on the floor. He wrenched the door open, saying a tiny prayer of thanks that the room was empty, slammed it shut and locked it behind him. Finally, he could relax a little bit. He sunk to the floor, back against the wall, and tried to breathe evenly again. _That was so fucked up._ You’re _so fucked up_ , he thought. He slammed a fist against the floor, and then thought, _ew, this is a bathroom and you just hit the floor, you sicko_. He sighed and stood up to wash his hands, then letting the cool water pool in his palms and splashing it on his face. He wiped his face off with the arm of his hoodie and toweled his hands off with the stupid brown paper that the school used everywhere, as if all the students’ six-figure educations weren’t enough to spring for the nice paper towels.

He sniffled quietly and looked in the mirror before bracing himself to return to class. When he snuck back in, most of the students were gone already, excused while he was in the bathroom.

He moved to his easel and started packing up his pencils. 

“Can I see your drawings?” came a sudden voice from over Kent’s shoulder. He jumped and let out a yelp, definitely very attractive, before turning and, again, coming face to face with Jack, who was finally robed again, bent at the waist and peering over Kent’s shoulder.

“Woah! I, uh, no, yeah - I mean - yeah, no, uh.” He gulped down some air. “Yes.” Kent’s heart thudded in his chest, battering up against his sternum in his sudden nervousness.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!” Jack apologized. “It’s just, euh, most people left but I haven’t done this before, and I wanted to see how people drew.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, that’s. Great,” Kent wheezed. “So, uh, here, I did this one first, and this one second.”

Jack pored over the drawings, his bright blue eyes scanning the linework and blending, which was much more cohesive the second time around.

“Wow,” he finally commented. “These are amazing, you made me look so good!”

“Oh! Uh, thanks!” Kent squeaked. “You’re the one that looks good, though.”

He mentally slapped himself again, furious that he’d admitted it out loud, but Jack just chuckles.

“Thanks, man,” Jack said. “But really, you’re such a good drawer. I could never draw people like this.”

“Really?” Kent asked. “What’s your major, then?”

“Photography,” Jack replied, rubbing a little at the back of his neck. “It’s fun and I like it, but it doesn’t take the kind of skill you need to draw like this.”

“Oh, so you know how to use photoshop and stuff?” Jack nodded. “See, that’s so cool to me. And, honestly, I’m not even very good at drawing,” Kent stated. “I’m a painting major, so this is so not my forte.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Jack said, shrugging. “I think you’re great at it.”

“Thanks,” Kent breathed again. He couldn’t believe he was actually having a full conversation with the object of his past two hours’ of desire. Without blushing, or yammering, or vomiting.

He was in a daze just acknowledging it.

“Hey, do you think I could see your photos sometime?” Kent blurted out. He prepared to slap himself again, but against all odds, Jack said _yes_.

“Sure, but only if I get to see your paintings,” Jack grinned, bumping Kent with his elbow. “I have a gallery show coming up this weekend, actually, if you’d like to come?”

“Sure!” Kent said, a little too enthusiastically. _Rein it in, man, come on._

“Do you have facebook?”

“Yeah, let me pull it up on my phone.”

Kent flipped through the pages of his phone and pulled up the facebook app. He offered it to Jack, and, after a moment of clicking around, Jack handed the phone back.

“Okay, I added you to the event. It’ll come up as ‘SAIS Graduate Photography Exhibition’ when you search for it.”

“Great,” Kent repeated. “I’m excited! I don’t have a gallery show or anything, but, um, if you wanted you could drop by my studio sometime.”

“Sure,” Jack smiled. “Just give me your number at the exhibition, eh?”

“Yeah,” Kent said, grinning back.

“Well, I’d better let you go,” Jack said, as he noticed students for the next class started filtering in. “I’ll see you at the show, though, okay?”

“Okay,” Kent said, a little dopey and a lot smitten. “See you soon.”

\-----

That night, when Kent flopped down onto his bed and pulled out his laptop, he had a notification waiting.

_Jack Zimmermann has asked to be your friend!_

__

__

_Jack Zimmerman, hmm?_ Kent clicked accept as he smiled to himself. 

His whole body seemed to blush as he clicked on Jack’s Photos. He clicked through photo after photo of Jack, at parties and exhibitions, and grinned gleefully to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this nonsense! There's going to be more, so if you liked it, keep an eye out for further installments.


End file.
